Tag Archives: Psalm 23

The path of righteousness leads right into the valley of the shadow of death

Reading for April 21, fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd.
    I lack nothing.
He lets me rest in grassy meadows;
    he leads me to restful waters;
        he keeps me alive.
He guides me in proper paths
    for the sake of his good name.

Even when I walk through the darkest valley,
    I fear no danger because you are with me.
Your rod and your staff—
    they protect me.

You set a table for me
    right in front of my enemies.
You bathe my head in oil;
    my cup is so full it spills over!
Yes, goodness and faithful love
    will pursue me all the days of my life,
    and I will live in the Lord’s house
    as long as I live.

Reflection

The Good Shepherd leads us on paths of righteousness, and that path leads right into the valley of the shadow of death. This is the truth of Psalm 23 that is seldom stated. The path of righteousness is the path of right relationship. The Hebrew word tsedek occurs in the Hebrew Bible 118 times, and many times it is translated “justice.” The Palmist reminds us that the paths of righteousness lead into the darkest valleys.

Once, the path of righteousness crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge. On March 7, 1965, civil rights leaders marched from Selma to Montgomery to protest unfair voting practices, about 600 unarmed marchers were met with violence from state troopers and their racist posse. Known as “Bloody Sunday,” many were beaten with batons and sprayed with tear gas.

Once, the path of righteousness ran down Christopher Street in Greenwich Village, New York. When, on June 26, 1969, the queer community of Greenwich Village had enough of the harassment, threats, and violence. They resisted the torment from NYPD and in the ensuing Stonewall uprising lasted two nights.

Jesus’ path of righteousness went from Gethsemane to Calvary. His path didn’t just go into the shadow, it plunged deep into the heart of the darkness. Yet on the other side of the Cross was a glorious Resurrection that proved the path of righteousness was the right one. The Way that leads to glory, life abundant, and life eternal goes right through the valley of the shadow of death. Christ’s rod and staff comfort us. We know we can walk this path of righteousness because Jesus prepares a table for us.

In a few days, the path of righteousness will lead down College Street to the Charlotte Convention Center. Paths of righteousness often lead into the darkest valleys. When we advocate for the oppressed, when we stand up for what is right and moral, when we have the courage to affect change, the shadow may get dark. The spiritual forces of evil rise out of the shadows with misinformation, meddling, threats, and self-righteous pandering. It is a fearful and anxious time for many of us as we walk these final steps toward General Conference.

On March 15, 1959, eight days after Bloody Sunday, President Johnson sent the Voting Rights Act to Congress. On Sunday, March 21, two weeks after 600 protestors were brutalized for daring to challenge the idol of Jim Crow, the people marched again. This time over 8,000 people began their march from Brown Chapel AME in Selma. On March 25, 25,000 reached the capitol steps in Montgomery.

One year after the uprising, on June 28, 1970, there was a parade down Christopher Street. Two years later, there were similar marches in Chicago, LA, Minneapolis, Boston, Dallas, London, Paris, West Berlin, Stockholm, San Francisco, Atlanta, Buffalo, Detroit, Washington DC, Miami, and Philadelphia. Originally known as Christopher Street Liberation Day marches, they became known as Gay Pride events to reflect that LGBTQ people no longer had to remain hidden in shadows of shame and fear but could celebrate who God created them to be.

I do not know what will come after May 3, 2024. I do not know what kind of church the UMC will be. I’m anxious because death may cast a shadow that is longer than I thought. Regardless of the outcome, I know that there will be pain and anguish from people who will feel abandoned or betrayed. I worry about the harm that may be done to people I love who hunger and thirst for righteousness, but I fear no evil. I know what comes on the other side of the valley of the shadow of death. There is table of grace already prepared for us. There is a cup of goodness that is overflowing with love. And justice, goodness, and mercy will continue to pursue us all the days of our lives.

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The binding of Isaac

IGRC for Unity devotional

Genesis 22:1-14

July 2, 2023

As Isaac laid on the altar table, bound up while his father held a sharp knife, I wonder what was going through his mind? Abraham’s understanding of God was clear. His interpretation of God’s will led him to sacrifice his son. He was convinced of this path and knew it was right. What was Isaac thinking as he lay on the table?

I wonder how many fathers since Abraham have been willing to sacrifice their sons and daughters over their interpretation of God’s will? How many parents were convinced that binding their children was the way forward? How many heard their version of the will of God, but ignored their own struggling child on the table?

Isaac’s name meant “laughter” or “one who rejoices” As Abraham sharpened his knife, who was laughing? Who still rejoices at the sacrifice of children who are bound by their parents’ understanding of God’s will?

A year ago on Pentecost my church, Two Rivers United Methodist Church in Rock Island, has a meeting after worship. The launch of the Global Methodist Church had caused headlines and questions and we talked about what we would do as a congregation. Three options were considered: 1) Begin discussions around disaffiliation and explore the opportunities with the newly formed GMC, 2) Do nothing and wait until General Conference 2024 when things might get “sorted out.” 3) Initiate talks about LGBTQ inclusion, gather information, do research, and pray about a welcome statement that could be made to the public.

During that meeting, with people nearly filling up our fellowship hall, there arose a general consensus that 1) disaffiliation wasn’t really on the table, 2) Doing nothing could continue to harm people we love in our community, 3) we would do the work of crafting a welcome statement.

One year later, that work led us to create our own statement and join the Reconciling Ministries Network. Last Sunday, on June 25, we celebrated Reconciling Sunday. We had more guests in worship and more guests between the ages of 16-25 than we have had in a very long time. One of our guests was a man named Adam Peters. He is the program director at Clock, Inc., a social service agency that serves LGBTQ+ people with counseling services, health screenings, social and support groups, and many other services.

Adam is a lifelong Methodist, and he shared with our congregation. He has granted me permission to share with you some of his reflections from Sunday. Three Sundays previous to our celebration, Adam decided on a whim to go back to the little country church in Iowa where he grew up. He had not been there in 17 years. He wrote in a reflection on Facebook

“Folks were warm.

‘Is that… is that Adam Peters I see?’

‘I wasn’t sure if it was you until you smiled, I’d never forget that smile.’

They hugged me. They seemed genuinely glad that I was there. Almost all, old and gray. A few didn’t remember me at first, because time is cruel. Memories fade.

The day he visited his old church they were celebrating. They were rejoicing. They were excited to “return to their roots,” which were leading them to disaffiliation. They were rejoicing that they had raised the “$100K to leave it all behind.”

Wondering what Isaac was thinking while he was bound on the altar is speculation, but Adam shared on Facebook about his experience:

Am I hurt that this church would welcome me back warmly, but not support who I actually am?

No.

Because that’s an old story.

Of an old chapter.

Of an old book.

And my life is magical.

Like the blackbird.

FULL of magic and wonder.

Misunderstood by many.

But also, made in the creation.

In the image of God.

And the blackbird whispered to the closeted boy in the pew,

‘You were only waiting for this moment to arise.’”

Adam, who had that experience just three weeks ago, walked into a different church last Sunday. He walked into a church that was rejoicing too. We were celebrating our public statement to embrace all people. We were celebrating the Biblical truth that loving another person is never a sin. We were celebrating the reconciling love of God and the truth of the first Christian Creed that “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave or free; nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

When he came forward, he told us a little bit about Clock, Inc. Then he thanked us for the warm welcome. He testified to the incredible love he felt. He closed by saying, “You are saving lives. I wish I had a church like this when I was a kid in a pew. All I know is that what you are doing is saving lives.”

After the service he stayed, shared some cake, talked with a queer teenager who shared their poetry during the service. He shared a lot of hugs with a lot of people who thanked him for his words and his work. He got back on Facebook and shared a picture we took together, and wrote:

“What a difference three weeks makes… This church is one that isn’t breaking off and that has decided that the closeted queer kid in the pews should not only feel safe to be their authentic self, but should be welcome with complete love, joy, and compassion. My mind was blown from the total wash of love that this congregation had for me, a stranger walking in… and the beautiful spirit that unfolded throughout a service that was truly welcoming of all. This church is taking steps that will not only undoubtedly shape lives for the better but also save lives.”

As Isaac lay on the altar, God stopped the hand of Abraham.

God does not require the sacrifice of children for the sake of following doctrine. Abraham thought he was doing God’s will when he bound Isaac. He thought he was acting out of love when he was willing to sacrifice his son. He was wrong.

God does not want the sacrifice of the first born. God does not require us to bind up our LGBTQ+ children in false clothes. We are not called to sacrifice our children on the altar of heterosexuality. We do not need to bind them in lies that go against who they were created to be. Deuteronomy 12:31 reminds us to not do things that the LORD hates, which includes harming our children. Jeremiah 7:30-32 declares that harming children “never crossed [God’s] mind.” And of course, Micah reminds us that God does not require extravagant sacrifices, and certainly not the oldest child. Instead, “He has told you, human one, what is good and what the LORD requires from you: to do justice, embrace faithful love, and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8)

And so we walk. We walk with the good shepherd who leads on us pathways of justice (Psalm 23). We walk with steadfast love as we do the work of liberating all who are bound by harmful understanding of God’s will.

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The Gospel According to Pixar: Finding Nemo

Dear Daughters,

On your first day of Kindergarten I wore sunglasses. It was a sunny day, but that is not why I wore the shades. I wore them because I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want you to see the redness in my eyes or the tears flowing down my cheeks. Your mother and I walked behind as you and your sister walked together, hand in hand, toward the school. It looked so big, and you looked so tiny. Your head seemed to barely peak over the top of your backpack, which was wider than your body even though it carried only the lunch I had just made for you.

You walked to the big lot where all the other kids were waiting. Other parents. Other sunglasses. I wasn’t embarrassed of my tears. Everyone who knows me knows that I a crier. You even know it, but not today. I didn’t want you to be thinking about my tears. You had enough to deal with. You found your line. We gave you hugs and waited for your teachers to come. And she did. The line of kindergarteners started to move. Some of the parents walked with their little ones. It was a first-day exception to the rule that I was not aware of. I didn’t know that we could walk in with you. So Mommy asked. She bent low and said to you, “Do you want us to come with you or do you want to go alone?”

“I want to go alone,” you said. And into the deep blue you swam.

Into the deep, fraught with dangers on all sides, you ventured. There, kids could be mean to you. There, teachers could crush your spirit. There, cafeteria chaos loomed. There, I would not be able to scoop you up if you called out, “Daddy uppy!” There, into the deep you swam. There you ventured out, wanting to go alone. Needing to go alone. It is possible to be both overjoyed and terrified at the same time. For in that moment I was joyful that you were ready. I was so proud of my brave, independent, smart little girl; and I was terrified for my precious, vulnerable, sensitive little girl. So I waved, and I watched you as long as I could. Then you were in the building, and somehow I went about my day until it was 3 p.m., and I found that you had survived.

Finding Nemo is about a Dad, Marlin, trying to find his son, Nemo. Along the way Marlin bumps into Dory, a wonderfully optimistic fish with an extremely short attention-span. She reminds Marlin that when things look difficult, the best thing to do sometimes is “just keep swimming.”  Most of the story of the movie is of their adventure. They engage much danger along the way, encounter strange creatures, and develop a lasting friendship. Meanwhile Nemo is made a pet, trapped in a tank in a seaside Dentist’s office. Here, Nemo makes some unlikely friends, draws on his own courage and teamwork. Eventually, Marlin and Nemo are reunited, and through the power of teamwork and positive thinking, they are freed from a fisherman’s net.

It is a wonderful adventure, but it is easy to forget how it all started.

I get Marlin. Here, on Nemo’s first day of school, he is rightly worried. Maybe he goes overboard, but I understand his desire to protect his son, and I cringe at Nemo’s open defiance. Marlin knows that the deep blue is a dangerous place. He knows that something as simple as touching a boat can get you killed. I struggle with the same emotions as Marlin. I think every parent does, and I don’t expect it to get any easier. The dangers just seem to get bigger as life goes on. In the end, all I can do is trust.

I trust that the things your Mom and I have taught you can hold true even in the midst of hardship. I trust that you feel my love and my presence even if I’m not there at your side. I trust that there will be others that care about you that will guide you on your way. I trust that there will be friends who will love you for who you are. I trust that your own strength and resourcefulness will surprise you when you need it. Above all, I trust that the same shepherd who guides and protects me through the darkest valley is the same shepherd who will watch you too. If I am to claim faith in the Scriptures, and find solace in words like the 23rd Psalm for struggles in my own life, it means I have to find solace in them for you as well. Even though you will walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil. For the same rod and staff that protects me, protects you as well. Surely goodness and mercy pursues you as relentlessly as it pursues me, too.

Holding onto this is the only way that I can let go of you, and letting you go is precisely my job as your father. The only way for you to become the amazing women that God has created you to be is if I allow you to venture. I have to allow you to get lost, to play in the rain, to have your heart broken, to scrape your knee. You both have so many gifts. You have incredible kindness and curiosity. You are ferocious and gentle. You are passionate and loyal, and sometimes agonizingly stubborn. So go out into the deep blue.

Explore. Fall. Imagine. Sing. Bless. Feed. Dance. Play. Read. Love. Fail. Forgive. There will be hard days, and sometimes the best thing to do is just keep swimming.

Through it all know that no matter what, I will pursue you with as much goodness and faithful love as I can.

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Finding Nemo Meme

in this family, we love

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A table for one.

Table for OneI’m an introverted person.  One of the distinctive marks of an introvert is that they don’t mind going to a restaurant and asking for a table for one.  Don’t get me wrong, I love eating and being with people.  I love a good dinner party, or going out to eat with friends.  I also enjoy a meal by myself.  I enjoy the calmness of a table for one.  There are no social expectations, no awkward silences.  There might be a book, or a crossword puzzle, or a legal pad and a pen.

I enjoy a table for one.  It can be a space for reflection, meditation, or even prayer.  Sometimes though, it is not…

God “prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies,” reads Psalm 23.  What if it is a table for one?

What if the enemy is within?

I’ve sat with myself on dark and lonely nights.

What if the enemy is my own apathy?

I’ve walked by pain, turned a blind eye to the suffering of my neighbor.

What if the enemy is my own comfort?

I’ve chosen to settle for the inertia of inaction over disrupting the status quo.

What if the enemy is my own pride?

I’ve avoided the one that hurt me. I’ve held onto bitterness, even when the taste in my mouth was too much to bear.

What if the enemy is my own fear?

I’ve walked away from persecution, and participated in unjust systems for fear of the wrath would be turned onto me.

So Jesus, what then?

You tell me to love my enemies.  Am I to love my enemy when the enemy is looking back at me in the mirror?

I know the answer.  I’ve sat at that table before.  Still, God meets me there.

I sit at the table in the presence of my enemy, and can only confess to my God and myself the times I have fallen short.  I sit with myself and have no choice but to forgive, so I may be forgiven.  I sit at my table for one and am confronted with the  profound absurdity of the gospel.  There is good news in sitting at the table for one.  

There is confession.  There is forgiveness.  There is grace.  There is bread for me to eat, and a cup overflowing.  There is oil being poured out on my head with such exuberance and abundance it seems shocking.  There at the table for one I learn that goodness and mercy are following me.  No, they are doing more than following me.  They are pursuing me.  Actively, purposefully, God is pursuing me.

Goodness and mercy are pursuing me, even when I flee.  Goodness and mercy are pursuing me, even when my apathy and my comfort and my pride and my fear seem to get the best of me.  God is pursuing me, and sometimes it is only at a table for one that I pause long enough to sense it.

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